


Deep in the heart of darkness sparks, a dream of light

by WildandWhirling



Category: Beowulf (Poem)
Genre: Drunken Confessions, Drunken Kissing, In Vino Veritas, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 10:55:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25349578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildandWhirling/pseuds/WildandWhirling
Summary: A bitter smile on the face of Unferth. “And do you like me, son of Ecgtheow?”“I would like you more,” Beowulf replies, “If you did not drink and say rash things.”Beowulf and Unferth, alone.
Relationships: Beowulf/Unferth (Beowulf)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 16
Collections: Multifandom Drabble 2020





	Deep in the heart of darkness sparks, a dream of light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cereus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cereus/gifts).



> To Dr. C at *unnamed technology school*: Thank you very much for introducing me to this. You spent a solid year, getting me into Early Medieval English literature, trying to get the nuances down to a group of primarily tech students (+ me as the one odd Celtic Studies student), sometimes reading out Old English, getting that lost, broken look in your eyes when someone mentioned the movie, making me read it twice, in both the Heaney and the Tolkien translations. 
> 
> And then I promptly used it to write Beoferth slash. In all fairness, you HAD to have known I would abuse it somehow.

“Ah, the great hero comes!” Unferth raises a goblet, hands wavering. “Beowulf, mighty son of Ecgtheow! Hero of...wherever he goes.”

“You are in your cups again,” Beowulf says, “It is better for you to not speak, but to rest until your head is cleared.”

“My head? My head is perfectly fine. No, it’s-it’s clearer than ever. You won. Grendel, his mother. King Hrothgar sings your praises, and here I am,” He pokes the goblet at Beowulf, golden mead spilling onto the floor in a frothy mess. “The kin-slayer, Unferth. Whose sword couldn’t even find a sheath in an old woman.” He then slams the goblet down, the metal pinging against the wooden table. 

“I spoke true when I said that it was no failure of-” 

Unferth shakes his head, frowning. “It never could defend Heorot, though, could it? You did. No one speaks of me, no one even likes me. They tolerate me.” 

Beowulf sits by him on the bench, eyes glowing a warm amber in the light of the hearth’s fire. “I have heard tales of your bravery, Unferth son of Ecglaf.” 

A bitter smile on the face of Unferth. “And do you like me, son of Ecgtheow?” 

“I would like you more,” Beowulf replies, “If you did not drink and say rash things.” 

Unferth gives a half-hearted laugh. “I have my answer.” 

“Do you?” Beowulf asks, and Unferth, as deep in his cups as he is, is aware that they are very close, that he can feel the warmth of the other warrior’s body. 

Unferth sobers. “Why should you care?” 

Beowulf grasps him then, kissing him hard, and Unferth’s hands grapple in his hair. 

“I believe that there is a great warrior in you yet,” Beowulf hisses in his ear, “Be that man.”

Unferth doesn’t drink again.


End file.
